Recently I enjoyed preaching on Romans 16. Perhaps surprisingly, there was a lot to learn from the long list of names. One obvious feature was the many women mentioned.

In recent years, it's been popular to say that the church has oppressed women, that it has little place for them, and even that the Apostle Paul was a woman-hater. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Paul identifies 28 people he wants to greet in Rome. Ten of them are women. Even that statistic is impressive in a fairly male-dominated society. Paul was certainly not ignoring women.

Several women mentioned were obviously important in Christian circles. For example, there is Priscilla in verse 5, mentioned, unusually, before her husband. Obviously she was a capable woman, whom Paul greatly admired. He says she and her husband risked their lives for him. And many were very grateful to her and Aquila.

Then in verse 6 there is Mary, and in verse 12, Tryphena, Tryphosa and Persis—all women who are said to work hard in the Lord.

And we shouldn't forget Phoebe, mentioned in verses 1-2. She's not in Rome, but is travelling there on some matter. She is identified as a ‘servant’, which can also be translated as ‘deacon’. This word was sometimes used for a recognized church office. And so it's quite likely she had a recognized ministry role in the church at Cenchrea. She is also a great help or ‘patron’—probably providing financial or social backing to the Christians. In fact, Phoebe was possibly the one whom Paul trusted to take his letter to the Christians in Rome.

Paul obviously had a lot of time for women like these.

So what conclusions can we draw about the place of women in ministry? Paul's letter says we can be certain there is an honoured place for women in ministry. They were servants of the church, they were Paul's fellow workers and they were hard workers in the Lord. And we should encourage women today to get involved and to work hard in serving the Lord.

But if there's a danger of glossing over the fine ministry done by women, there is an opposite danger of reading too much into the brief references in places like Romans 16. This is exactly what is done by many proponents of an egalitarian approach to ministry.

There's a problem when feminists claim this passage proves women served as public Bible teachers and church leaders. The reality is that the references don't give enough information to define the precise nature of their ministries.

For example, the fact that someone is called of a ‘fellow worker’ with Paul does not prove she was a preacher or a church leader. I consider our office administrator my co-worker. But she does not lead or preach in church. Likewise, my wife is my fellow worker. She administers the music ministry. She teaches children at Kids' Church and in school Scripture, and teaches the women in her Bible study group. But she does not lead or preach in church. So the use of the term ‘fellow worker’ does not prove women may be church leaders.

The same applies to calling Phoebe a deacon. As a patron, Phoebe's ministry may have majored on hospitality or financial support. In Acts 6, those who served as deacons were to help with feeding the poor widows in the Jerusalem church. And in 1 Timothy 3, unlike the church elders, deacons are not required to possess the quality of “being able to teach”. In fact, in 1 Timothy 2:11-15, 3:1-7 (cf. v. 8ff) and 5:17-18, it is the male elders, not the deacons, who oversee or direct the affairs of the church—some of them by preaching and teaching. So this reference to Phoebe as a deacon does not prove she was a church leader or teacher.

Lastly, there is the example of Junia in Romans 16:7:

Greet Andronicus and Junia, my fellow countrymen and fellow prisoners. They are outstanding among the apostles, and they were also in Christ before me. (HSCB)

I've heard this verse used to say women were foundational authoritative apostles. But there are three uncertainties here:

1. The name is grammatically ambiguous: it could be male (Junias) or female (Junia)—although it's most likely female, since almost all the references in other literature from the time suggest Junia was a common female name, but Junias appears virtually unknown.

2. The phrase “outstanding [or ‘prominent’] among the apostles” is also ambiguous. Imagine someone says to you, “Sandy is prominent among the bishops” (unlikely I know!) Does this mean Sandy is a prominent example of a bishop? Or does it mean that Sandy is prominent (as a person or as a minister) in the estimation of the bishops? Grammatically it could be either, although once again, it is arguably more likely an inclusive reference.

3. The third uncertainty is what the word ‘apostle’ means here. It has the basic sense of ‘delegate’ or ‘envoy’ or ‘messenger’ or what we might call a ‘missionary’ (one sent on a mission).

   Often it is used of envoys with special God-given status—especially of the original twelve apostles of Jesus. Paul applies ‘apostle’ to a wider group of eyewitnesses to the resurrection, including himself in 1 Corinthians 15, and to himself in most of the opening greetings of his letters, as one appointed directly by God as his special envoy.

   But elsewhere, he uses the word simply to refer to messengers without any special God-appointed status. For example, in 2 Corinthians 8:23, the term ‘apostles’ is translated as “representatives” in the NIV and as “messengers” (i.e. of local churches) in the ESV. Likewise in Philippians 2:25, Epaphroditus is an ‘apostle’, which simply means Paul's messenger. (This is also the case in John 13:16.)

In other words, even if (as is grammatically possible) Junia is called an ‘apostle’ in this verse, it does not prove she was a church leader and teacher. She may simply have been a Christian messenger or missionary with a range of possible duties, alongside Andronicus, who is most likely her husband.

The word itself does not prove what her role is. And it is dangerous to suggest that this part of the New Testament must contradict the other parts of the New Testament that put certain clear restrictions on women with regards to not teaching or leading a mixed congregation.

Another more subtle problem with this approach is that it suggests that such ministry is the only pinnacle available to a woman. But don't forget how positive Paul is in verse 16 about the mother of Rufus who had also been like a mother to Paul. Her ministry of mothering—of raising children and practising hospitality for a visitor like Paul—is equally commendable to that of Phoebe as a deacon or the outstanding Andronicus and Junia and Priscilla and Aquila.

So today, just like Paul in Romans 16, we need to value and encourage women in the full variety of those ministries legitimately available to them.

Reference: Andreas J Köstenberger, ‘Women in the Pauline Mission’ in The Gospel to the Nations: Perspectives on Paul's Mission, Apollos, 2000, pp. 221-247.

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A most excellent statement from a seemingly unlikely person, heard this morning. The speaker was a tall, retired man in a suit, addressing a younger bearded man who may or may not have had some religious interest, but who had a great deal to say about the Pope, the Roman Catholic church, and the recent Roman Catholic World Youth Day (WYD). They were talking about the re-enactment of the route to Jesus' crucifixion that happened as part of the WYD celebrations. The older man, who spoke broken English with a heavy Armenian accent, had this to say about the re-enactment:

Jesus say after he die, three days later he wake up. I say “Why you no show the wake-up?”

There are so many good things about this comment, it's hard to know where to start. Putting aside the question of whether or not re-enacting the crucifixion is a good idea (especially when embellished with non-biblical mythology, such as Jesus meeting his mother and a woman named Veronica as he went on his way), the old man's question was more than reasonable. It's not only the cross but the resurrection of Jesus which lies at the very heart of what we believe as Christians. Because Jesus rose again, he is revealed as Lord and Judge. Why have a religion which focusses, in its art and drama, on Jesus as a baby, on Mary his mother, and on Jesus nailed to a wooden cross, but which, at the same time, fails to portray his victory over sin and death in the resurrection? For he was “raised for our justification” because if he wasn't, “we are still in our sins”.

As the old man demanded, “Why you no show the wake-up?”

That question was encouraging enough. But, in addition, the old man did not allow himself to be sidetracked by the younger man's rant about the Pope and various pilgrims; instead, he had zeroed in on the heart of the Christian faith, and had proclaimed it in a voice loud enough for all the waiting passengers to hear ... well, it just made my day.

When I see him next (the old man, not the younger man), I am going to go and thank him. For the moment, I'm just saying a word or two to the risen Lord Jesus—that he might make the words of that gospel presentation effective in bringing new life.

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This morning, just for something different, and not at all because some of the Sola Panellists have gone quiet and there's nothing in the cupboard (guys!), let me suggest that you spend your time doing some listening instead: check out this month's Briefing Lounge podcast, ‘Shifting to the personal’.

One thing nearly all the Sola Panellists have in common is that, at one stage or other in our ministry lives, we've been profoundly influenced and trained by Col Marshall. When people think of the ‘St Matthias Movement’ of the 80s and 90s, the planting of 17 churches, the massive growth in people going into Moore College, the large and paradigm-shifting campus work at UNSW, the change in ministry culture that was influential in so many places, and all the rest, they tend to think ‘Phillip Jensen’, and understandably so. And they tend to think that the whole movement was built around Phillip's singular preaching gifts and personality and energy.

But those of us closer to the action know that none of it would have happened, humanly speaking, without Col Marshall. Col was the ‘ministry brains’ of the operation (if I can put it like that). His relentless focus on people, and his equally relentless determination to keep going back to the Bible and rethinking what we were doing in ministry, shaped everything that happened in those extraordinary years.

Col is probably best known for his leadership of MTS (the Ministry Training Strategy), but in ‘Shifting to the personal’, he talks about how institutionalization affects all of us (including MTS), and how we are drawn almost magnetically to structures and programmes rather than people. What would Christian life and ministry and church be like if our priority was to build and work with people as individuals, and to disciple and train them as followers of Christ, rather than to keep the wheel turning on all the programmes and events and structures that seem to take on a life of their own? And what if our home groups really functioned as small ‘c’ churches, and took responsibility for their members, with thoroughly trained leaders who taught and pastored them? And what if the fad for ministry ‘training’ didn't just equip people with skills, but shaped their whole life, character and discipleship?

All this and more, as they say, in this month's Briefing Lounge (the best yet, I think). Have a listen, and pop your comments and questions back here.

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In the comments from one of my GAFCON posts, Sam asks this interesting question:

While reading the material on the GAFCON website during the conference I couldn't help notice the charismatic flavour of many of the comments, particularly those of the African Bishops. Do you have any thoughts on how you see this impacting the wider Anglican community in the future?

I'm not sure exactly which comments Sam means, but in the conference generally there was certainly a bit of mild charismaticism here and there. It was more a matter of flavour than real substance—a few arms in the air, the way the singing was done, some ‘praise the Lord’-style language, but not much more than that. It seems to be part of the unique recipe that is African Anglicanism: a splash of high church colour and movement, a few dollops of charismatic vibrancy, and several cups of good old-fashioned evangelicalism. Charismatic theology or practice wasn't prominent, nor particularly significant in its influence as far as I could see. And whether it will have a wider impact via the growing influence of African Anglicanism, I'm not entirely sure. I suspect not, but I don't feel particularly qualified to make a prophecy.

However, what I would like to do (and hence to the point of this post) is to share a personal observation and a wild hunch, and see if anyone else is as crazy as I am.

I have always thought that something about the charismatic vibe grates with Australian culture. When I was involved in the charismatic movement (nearly 30 years ago), I remember standing there, hands raised, eyes closed in ecstasy, body swaying to the music, calling out “Thank you, Jesus”, or stringing syllables together tongues-style, and feeling ... well, like a bit of goose. A sincere goose, and glad to be a fool for Jesus of course, but a goose all the same.

Now I'm not commenting at all on the genuineness of my devotion at that time, or of those around me, nor on the theology that lay behind it (let's leave that for another time). Nor am I talking about the offence of the gospel, or the way in which living for Jesus means being different from those around us. I'm talking about the style, the little rituals, the patterns of language, the way we arranged our gatherings, how we expressed and enacted our deepest feelings and thoughts—the ‘culture’, in other words. And I never shook the feeling that culturally, Pentecostalism was an odd fit. It felt weird and imposed, like a big Aussie boofhead wearing a grass skirt.

And what has all this to do with GAFCON? Well, as I stood (and sang) shoulder to shoulder with charismatically inclined Anglicans from many different parts of the world, I couldn't help noticing how naturally the African bishop next to me wore the ‘charismatic vibe’. He swayed and waved and sang with a huge smile on his face, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Then there was the white charismatic guy in the row in front of me. He still looked like a goose.

The obvious but somewhat politically incorrect thought struck me: is it possible that classic ‘charismatic’ culture really is African culture? That the late 19th-century black holiness churches which gave birth to pentecostalism passed on to the 20th-century charismatic movement some of its cultural flavour? And that one of the reasons it all feels so strange to Aussies, and maybe less so to Americans, and probably even more so to Brits, is that it is just not us? We have our own ways of rejoicing and celebrating and expressing sincere gratitude. They are no less real or heartfelt or sincere. But they don't usually involve repetitive singing, swaying, dancing and waving.

Maybe this is what we should learn from our joyous, uninhibited African brothers. Maybe we should feel free to be ourselves. And love it.

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There is an insidious and dangerous teaching that I've noticed creeping in to my church, threatening my Christian hope, and stifling my evangelistic effectiveness. Up to this point, it hasn't had a catchy title.¹ But I want to correct that. I'm going to call this teaching ‘nowism’, from the English word ‘now’, meaning the present age.

Are you a nowist? How do you recognize nowistic tendencies? It's not so much seen by what you profess but by how you live. The fundamental feature of nowism is the tendency to live for this world and to forget about the glorious new heavens and new earth that God will bring about when Jesus Christ returns.

It's not a particularly new teaching; there were nowistic teachers in the Apostle Paul's day. In 2 Timothy 2:16-18, we read about Hymanaeus and Philetus who taught that the resurrection had already happened. Presumably, they were teaching that all of God's promises (particularly his great promise to restore the dead to life and to bring a final judgement and restoration of this fallen world) have actually been fulfilled in this present age. Paul saw their nowistic doctrine as destructive and gangrenous, bringing hopelessness, death and destruction, eating away at the body of Christ, poisoning and killing—because it robbed people of their true and glorious eternal hope in Jesus, and stopped them from trusting in him and being prepared to suffer while they longed for his return.

But nowism is alive and well today too. There are nowistic books, spreading like gangrene through Christian bookstores, and therefore Christian homes. You could take the title of Joel Osteen's book Your Best Life Now as a classic expression of pure nowism. But you also see it in that plethora of books that seem to assume that God's plan for your life is primarily directed towards helping you with your weight loss, your business sense, your church attendance numbers, your marriage and family life, your kids' education or your coffee making skills—as if the resurrection has already happened.

It's not surprising that nowism is becoming influential in Christian circles. Bad teaching always ends up conforming to the pattern of the world. In the early 20th century when moralism was the rage, much of the evangelical false teaching involved an unhealthy emphasis on ‘holiness’. But now the mood has shifted. There aren't many holiness teachers around any more. In my part of the world, at least, nowism seems to have taken over. A lot of it has to do with the fact that we live in times of unprecedented economic prosperity. Many of us have careers; all of us have peace and social security. Nobody need starve in our country. If we want heaven, we can get it now; it comes on a stick in the ice cream section of the local supermarket! In fact, most of us have quite a lot to lose when Jesus returns, and we don't have much reason to be very keen to see him come back and spoil it while we're all enjoying ourselves so much. At least he could wait until the kitchen extension is finished and we get back from the overseas trip!

Ironically, there's also a kind of prosperity paradox going on. We have this ‘great life’, but we also have less time to live it. To maintain the lifestyle, to maintain the big houses, to keep the backyards, to further our careers and to fulfil our dreams, we're working longer hours and feeling more exhausted. We're so busy because everybody else is competing with us for this good life too. There's that relentless competition which drives rises in property prices and soaring rents—which drives the need to work harder and longer just to keep up with the Joneses. And that combination of a great life and an exhausting schedule to maintain it means that we have no time for the future—at least not for the future that matters.

So we've become consumed with questions of now (or, at most, the next few decades): what job should I get? How can I make sure my kids are happy and fulfilled at school and home? What superannuation do I need? What diet will enable me to extend my life? And so, despite our professed orthodoxy, we Christians are becoming (bit by bit through our desire to conform to the world and through our own desires and yearnings) nowists.

In my next post, I'll write a little about how we can counter this insidious false teaching, and what it might mean for our evangelistic efforts.

¹ The theologians have a boring name for it: ‘overrealized eschatology’

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Gordon, how did you come to Christ?

A school friend told me that if I was a Christian and wrong, I would have just wasted a lot of Sundays with nice people. But if I was not a Christian and I was wrong, then I was going to hell! I realize there are logical flaws in that argument now. But it was enough to convince me to keep talking to him. He told me the gospel, and started me off going to church and reading the Bible.

I realized from reading the Bible that Jesus was Lord and God, and I also woke up to the fact that being a Christian wasn't about being good, but about asking Jesus' forgiveness. Luke 15 talks about the angels rejoicing when someone realizes this, which I thought was rather marvellous. So here I am, in God's grace.

How do you occupy your time?

Read. Write. Edit. Sleep. Talk to friends. Enjoy the family. Cook. Eat. Houseclean. Pray. Inhabit dark corners of the internet. Catch buses. Oh, and I am a promiscuous Facebook befriender. Try me! I've only ever dropped three people, but then three people have dropped me, so there's a bit of yin and yang going on there, or something. (DON'T think I haven't noticed, you three!)

Tell us a bit about your background and interests.

My background is that I am half-Chinese, half-Swedish; I grew up in Sydney, went to an agricultural high school, studied Psychology at the University of New South Wales, got married, studied Theology and ministered in Melbourne for 10 years with the Australian Fellowship of Evangelical Students. Fiona and I have three lovely daughters. I'm also an ordained Anglican minister.

As for interests, I hope I'm capable of being interested in just about anything other people find interesting. But, at the moment, I am playing the piano, singing in a choir, watching the Tour de France, luxuriating in having finished a Masters thesis after 20 years, and trying somewhat sluggishly to run at least an hour every second day (not there yet).

What are five books that really helped you grow as a Christian?

1. Mere Christianity by CS Lewis
2. Fundamentalism and the Word of God by JI Packer
3. The Book of the Judges: An Integrated Reading by Barry Webb
4. Institutes of the Christian Religion by John Calvin
5. The Everlasting God by D Broughton Knox.

What are you reading now?

Just sitting on my desk I have an abridged version of Augustine's Confessions which I am planning to carry around and read when I'm waiting in queues or whatever. Under that is Walking with Gay Friends by Alex Tylee, which is really good but I am worried about the looks I get when I carry it, so I tend not to read that on the bus.

Then there's Engaging with Barth by Gibson and Strange. Barth was a brilliant and compelling theologian, and therefore all the more dangerous to evangelicals; Ovey's chapter on Barth's trinitarian theology made me feel particularly anxious just in the last few days about what looks like Barth's Sabellianism.

Then underneath that are Calvin's Institutes—although, if I am going to be honest, it's really just the stuff on church in Book IV that I've been skimming. With that is Luther's Table Talk, The Deliberate Church by Dever and Alexander, The Reformed Pastor by Richard Baxter and A Lifting up for the Downcast by William Bridge, another Puritan.

I seriously recommend the last one if you are worried about Christians and depression, but even though it is not that long, it is not a skim read.

Buried under all that is an old Atlantic Monthly.

Just lately I've also read Kate Grenville's The Secret River, and some great detective fiction by Peter Temple, whose books you read for the descriptions of Melbourne and the fans of the Fitzroy football club as much as anything else. Language and adult themes warning.

And what books would you recommend as must-reads right now?

I already mentioned Engaging with Barth by Gibson and Strange, but that is more for the theologs out there. Any of Broughton Knox's Selected Works. Let's not get carried away though; you really only need to read the Bible. Start with Romans and memorize that, as Luther recommended; that's what I'm teaching my daughters.

Oh, if you are even a little bit interested in the evangelical heritage of Anglicanism, especially with all this GAFCON bizzo that has been going on lately, then you could do a whole heap worse than read Ashley Null's brilliant Thomas Cranmer's Doctrine of Repentance: Renewing the Power to Love. It will cost you an absolute bomb, but just quietly ...

What would your friends say are your hobbyhorses?

Low-cal milk is the abomination that causes desolation. Pork fat is actually necessary to the taste of pork, bacon, etc., so why breed it out or trim it off. Salt is good. Corduroy was a mistake. Buses are cool. Trams are cooler. Riding bicycles is safe. How come there aren't more orange cars. Robotic implants could work really well for us. Ten hours sleep per night is acceptable. Sydney weather is fantastic. We should name names. Why is everyone so down on smoking? Netball is over-regulated. Clapping between movements is fine, just get over it. Joe Jackson can't sing in tune—really, he can't. Bratz dolls are disgusting. Non-peer-reviewed medical treatments are largely effective because of empathy plus placebo.

I have a few more ideas, but perhaps you can e-mail me.

What's something that makes you angry?

Selling out the terrible glory of the risen Lord Jesus in the interests of marketing the Christian message to modern hearers.

And who is someone who inspires you?

Bruce Hall, the senior minister of our local church.

What is your ideal day off?

Driving to Austinmer with the family.

Give us your top five musicians.

• Bach
• Bartok
• Mozart
• Bob
• Joni Mitchell

Thanks Gordo!

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I've been asked for some reflections on Roman Catholic World Youth Day, held in Sydney last week. My reflections here are more about the ‘vibe’ than specific doctrinal interaction.

Firstly, I support fully the right for Roman Catholics to express publicly and vociferously their religious beliefs and practices. And, as Phillip Jensen argued, I don't especially mind the fact that some government funds helped support the effort.

Secondly, it was remarkable sociologically to notice how easy it was for large numbers of young people to have a really positive time together without drugs, alcohol abuse, sexual promiscuity or sporting fervour being to the driving forces. The pilgrims seemed incredibly well-behaved and friendly.

However, religious adherents being sincere and enthusiastic and well-mannered and clean-living does not prove the truth or praiseworthiness of their religious beliefs. Mormons, Jehovah's Witnesses and Muslims are also typically sincere and clean-living! But Christians agree that they are sincerely wrong.

Still, it was lovely to see all the goodwill and hospitality in Sydney.

Thirdly, the only protest that had any traction once World Youth Day week got underway was from those who felt the Roman Catholic Church had still not apologized properly to and cared for victims of sexual abuse perpetrated by church leaders. This was a sobering reminder of the devastating impact of such abuse on young people. It reinforced my own responsibility not to cut any corners in administering our diocesan safe ministry protocols in regards to such things as screening, child protection training and handling complaints.

Fourthly, when I see enormous line-ups of bishops in flowing robes, often with gold trim, and fancy mitres, and all the pomp and ceremony, I cannot help feel they have wandered a long way from how Jesus and his apostles got around in the New Testament. There were not a lot of ceremony and fine robes there, as far as I know. (This critique applies to Anglican bishops gathering in Jerusalem or Lambeth just as much—though I'm not sure any Anglican leaders ever get the rock star hysteria that the Pope attracted!)

Lastly, some thoughts on the stations of the cross, as played out in Sydney: leaving aside the theology of the concept for a moment, I can see the potential of such symbolism. So I tried to imagine what it would look like to an observer who didn't have a background of Christian knowledge. One would certainly have seen a statement against torture (with tortured Jesus in solidarity with all torture victims) and a statement for inclusion of the marginalized—especially the indigenous (with an Aboriginal man playing Simon of Cyrene, and the interpretive words of an indigenous lady). Personally, I can understand such concerns. But this sort of symbolism appeared to overshadow any clear explanation and focus on the meaning Jesus' death for sins. And it was disappointing how the whole thing ended with prayer to Mary.

However, the thing I found most dissonant was how the drama appeared to be a giant tourism advertisement for Sydney, with some of our most spectacular backdrops (such as the Opera House and the Art Gallery of New South Wales and Darling Harbour selected for the various stations.

Undeniably, it advertised Sydney's beauty. And I can understand the government of the host city and state, wanting to showcase it, and ordinary Australian Christians being proud of our city. Who'd ever want the sets for the whole thing to occur at Fox Studios! But once again, the beautiful backdrops (with their tourist calendar overtones) chosen by the church seemed incongruent alongside the actual historical reality of the dirt and shame and ugliness of Christ's crucifixion “outside the city gate” (Heb 13:12; NIV).

As I say, my reflections here are more on the vibe than the theology. However, my theological views are clear in our ‘sola power’ sermon series (download the audio).

But just in case anyone is unsure of what I think of the theology behind World Youth Day, I will quote from JC Ryle's essay on The Thirty-nine Articles. Here he explains why no-one should be surprised if an Anglican clergyman speaks against official Roman Catholic doctrine:

Let us mark, in the fourth place, as we read the Articles, the thoroughly Protestant spirit which runs throughout them, and the boldness of their language about Romish error.

Ryle then cites (among others, like Article 24, 25, 30 and 37):

• Article 19, which says the Church of Rome has erred
• Article 22, which says the Romish doctrines of purgatory, of adoration of images or relics and of prayer to the saints are repugnant to the word of God
• Article 28, which declares that transubstantiation is repugnant to the plain words of Scripture, and opposes the reservation or adoration of the sacrament of the Lord's Supper
• Article 31, which says that “the sacrifices of masses, in which it was commonly said the priest did offer Christ for the quick and dead, to have remission of pain and guilt, were blasphemous fables and dangerous deceit”
• Article 32, which opposes Rome's demand for priestly celibacy.

He continues:

Now what shall we say to all this? Nine times over the Thirty-nine Articles condemn, in plain and unmistakable language, the leading doctrines of the Church of Rome, and declare in favour of what must be called Protestant views. And yet men dare to tell us that we Evangelical clergymen have no right to denounce Popery, — that it is very wrong and very uncharitable to be so hot in favour of Protestantism, — that Romanism is a pretty good sort of thing, — and that by making such a piece of work about Popery, and Protestantism, and Ritualism, and semi-Popery, we are only troubling the country and doing more harm than good. Well! I am content to point to the Thirty-nine Articles. There is my apology! There is my defence! I will take up no other ground at present. I will not say, as I might do, that Popery is an unscriptural system, which every free nation ought to dread, and every Bible-reading Christian of any nation ought to oppose. I simply point to the Thirty-nine Articles.

I ask any one to explain how any English clergyman can be acting consistently, if he does not oppose, denounce, expose, and resist Popery in every shape, either within the Church or without. Other Christians may do as they please, and countenance Popery if they like. But so long as the Articles stand unrepealed and unaltered, it is the bounden duty of every clergyman of the Church of England to oppose Popery.

I was fortunate enough to obtain an old copy of JC Ryle's wonderful book Knots Untied at last autumn's Lifeline South Coast Big Book Fair for just $3. It contains the essay referenced above. Evangelical Anglicans in particular should grab a copy of the book if you can find it.

(May I also commend Mark Gilbert's blogs: there are six posts in all by a generous but Protestant Anglican observer at World Youth Day! Start here.)

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Weird. Having uploaded my post about Jonathan Leeman's excellent article on individualism about five minutes ago, I notice that Jonathan has just posted the first few paragraphs and a link to the article in pdf form. We didn't organize this, I swear!

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One of the many rewards of running our first Matthias Media USA conference last year was the time spent getting to know our hosts at Capitol Hill Baptist Church in Washington DC—including Jonathan Leeman, who runs the always interesting 9Marks blog, and pulls together their eJournal.

Like all the 9Marks guys, Jonathan is sharp as a tack, has a generous gospel heart, and is blessed with a clear-eyed sense of where the issues lie.

His thoroughly thought-provoking piece in the July/August edition of Modern Reformation is a case in point. Titled ‘Individualism's Not the Problem—Community's Not the Solution’, Jonathan's article examines the increasingly common mantra that the traditional evangelical gospel is too ‘individualistic’, and that we need a more communitarian, relational gospel for the disengaged postmodern self.

While acknowledging and applauding what the communitarians get right, Jonathan insightfully points out that the individualism, consumerism, radical scepticism and alienation of the modern person are symptoms of a deeper problem:

The problem with the modern self is not merely that it's “unrelated”. It's rebellious. Not just disengaged, but defiant. Not just independent, but insubordinate. Where Yahweh, the maker of heaven and earth, described himself to Moses as the self-defining, predicate-less “I AM” (ego sum in the Vulgate), the ground of all reality, Descartes' method effectively shoved Yahweh aside, making his existence (and God's!) a predicate of his own thinking mind (cogito ergo sum) ... Descartes' move, like Adam's, did not merely break a relationship; it broke God's law or Word. The implications are not merely personal, but judicial. It's not just a friend who is cast off; it's a Lord and Judge. The philosophical methods we associate with modernity and postmodernity, in a sense, whisper the same line whispered by the snake in Garden. What the shift from pre-modernity to modernity signified, really, was that this satanic whisper gained a moral and philosophical credibility in the so-called Christian West (even if it had always been believed and practiced). In other words, the Enlightenment did not bring us radical free agency and contractualism. Genesis 3 did. The Enlightenment legitimised it.

Jonathan then proceeds to show how the communitarian/relational emphasis, by often failing to appreciate the deeply theological roots of our modern predicament, ends up re-orienting our doctrine of sin, and of Christ's work, and of church, and ultimately of God. He concludes:

Loneliness is not the problem. A refusal to live on anyone else's terms is. Another way to put all this: we're not dealing with a relationship problem, but a worship problem.

The solution then is not community; it's repentance. The solution is in changing of heart and direction—in the individual! This repentance includes joining a community and making relationships. But it's joining a particular kind of community where self is no longer sovereign and where one is called to obedience to the church as an expression of obedience to God. It's the joining of a community where God's Word and the worship of God are supreme in everything.

It's definitely worth a read (and you can do it here by taking out Modern Reformation's free 30-day trial).

Does any of this resonate with anyone as much as it did with me?

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